Wake Up
by SimpleTechnicality
Summary: The prodigal son, a stolen noblewoman, and a repentant addict confront the evil lurking beneath Red Mountain.


**Introductions**

 **WARNING: Contains violence, rape, thoughts of suicide**

"Wake up. Hey, wake up. We've stopped."

Jiubs hands gripped the Khajiits tunic and shook him lightly. Said Khajiit had been passed out for over a day, and seemed to have been having some sort of nightmare, legs spasming as though he was running, claws absent mindedly running grooves into the wooden floor beneath their feet.

Jiub chided himself as the Khajiit slowly came to; had he given it some thought he'd just as soon have let the poor fetcher sleep. Who knows if, in a panic from that nightmare, the Khajiit wouldn't have turned those claws on _him_ upon waking?

Ah well, Jiub thought. Too late now.

Thankfully though the Khajiit woke softly, Jiub stilling and withdrawing his hands as awareness returned to those slitted green eyes.

"Ugh," the Khajiit moaned, bringing one hand up to his pounding head and letting out a low inhuman hiss, "What happened?"

"I don't know. You've been out ever since the guards brought you back. What did they…shit, I hear one coming."

Jiub scuttled back to the far wall of the tiny cabin he and his brother in binds had been stowed in, bringing one finger up to his lips to indicate to the still disoriented Khajiit that they needed to be quiet.

The guards had been edgy lately, Jiub noticed. No need to give them any ideas.

Heavy metal footfalls could be heard approaching. Both Jiub and the Khajiit kept their eyes trained studiously on the floor.

The door opened, an armored imperial legionnaire stepping through and without hesitating walked right up to the sitting Khajiit, dipped one hand down to grip the shackles that bound his wrists, and hauled him roughly to his feet.

Jiub reflected how all those weeks ago, back when they'd first been tossed in the back of a boat of the coast of Backlight, the Khajiit would've responded to such treatment by baring his sharp teeth and charging at his jailor. Seems the rancor had finally been beaten out of him however. Just as well. A temper like that was likely to get the poor sod killed.

As it was the Khajiit numbly allowed himself to be led out of the room, eyes never rising to meet the soldier still gripping the short chain attached to his cuffs. The legionnaire motioned with his head for Jiub to follow behind them.

J'dar Jodame found himself out underneath the open sky for the first time in what felt like forever.

The air stank of salt and decay, the sky was overcast with thick clouds the color of stone, and he was damp with humidity, his fur sucking up the moist swamp air like a sponge. A thoroughly underwhelming experience.

The humiliation of it was just too much. Too much. He felt his eye twitch as he thought of the beatings, the abject helplessness he'd been forced to experience, stripped naked on that filthy floor. No one should experience that, he thought. Least of all him. They had no right.

He swallowed a hiss as his eyes locked onto the chain-link leash the soldier lead him by, gripped impetuously loose in one hand while he conversed with another legionnaire, the female Redguard. Too loose.

J'dar would jump. He was sure that, if he moved fast enough, he could yank the chain right out of the Imperials grip and jump over the side of the boat. Never mind that he could barely swim, or that the soldiers would pepper his fleeing back with arrows, or that the only things he could see for miles was open ocean, swamp-land, and a tiny Imperial town.

He'd sooner die on his own terms, in a foolish and doomed escape attempt, than spend another second as the prisoner of these lowborn rats. He would not be cowed like this. He would not walk quietly to whatever cruel fate these monsters had in store for him.

His legs were tensing when the legionnaire reached over and stuck a key into his cuffs, which popped open before sliding off his wrists and clanging against the floor. J'dar snapped back to reality.

"…damnit, are you even listening? Fucking cats. I said, go see Socucius Ergalla at the Census and Excise office for your release papers. Now."

 _Why_ , J'dar wanted to ask, genuinely flummoxed as to why they'd be letting him go. Was this a trick, some sort of cruel game?

The question caught in his throat. J'dar found it impossible to even look his captor in the eye, much less speak. The sound of another pair of handcuffs clattering to the ground caught his attention. The filthy Dunmer walked up to stand next to him, rubbing his now naked wrists and looking around at the backwater they'd found themselves in.

Suddenly the Dunmer patted J'dar on the shoulder, making the Khajiit jump slightly at the unexpected contact.

The Dunmer, Jiub, pretended not to notice, gesturing with his thumb towards the gangway leading down off the side of the ship and onto the dock. "Let's be off yes? Before they change their minds?"

The humor in the Dunmers voice calmed J'dar somewhat, and as Jiub made his way towards the gangway J'dar felt his numb legs start to follow.

LLL

They made quite the sight J'dar was sure. A shirtless, barefoot, heavily scarred, bald, one-eyed Dunmer and an equally disheveled free outlander Khajiit sitting at a table in the only tradehouse in a backwater port town, a package stamped with the emperors seal sitting between them.

As well as their 'release fee', a rapidly depleting stack of gold coins both J'dar and Jiub were intent on converting into alcohol.

J'dar was pleasantly surprised how quickly he'd developed a taste for greef.

"Ffffuck the damn Emperor, I say." Jiub said, leaning heavily against the table, looking like he was struggling to keep from falling asleep then and there. "Let'em deliver his own fetching mail. Were free men, baby!"

He turned as he said that last part, twisting as though to shout this groundbreaking revelation to the rest of the sparsely populated tradehouse, only to nearly fall out of his seat and onto his ass for the effort. He caught himself on the edge of the table though, turning back around to stare at the silent Khajiit.

"What about you huh? What'cha gonna do, hmm?"

J'dar stared down at the table between them at the empty greef bottles, ostentatiously bottled to look like real brandy, and then back up at the mer. They'd drunk about the same amount, and yet J'dar was tipsy at best, while Jiub looked to be another bottle or two away from blacking out.

Lighweight.

"Get off this damn island, for starters," he said, clearing his throat.

"Ahh, that sounds nice. I'd like to get off this damn island too. Hey! Let's get off this damn island together, huh? It'll be like an, like an adventure!"

No chance in Oblivion was he going anywhere with this fool.

"uh….sure."

"Great! Ugh, hold on a second, I gotta go piss somewhere. And then, when I get back, we can talk about how where gonna get off this damn island, you and me."

Jiub stood and miraculously managed to make it down the stairs. Hopefully he'd be able to make it out of the tradehouse too. The Altmer at the counter down there didn't look like the type to take kindly to strange mer pissing on his floor.

J'dar reached hesitantly for the rest of the gold, thinking of gathering it up and splitting. Drinking it all away had seemed a fine idea at the time, but the longer he sat there the more and more aware of where he was he became.

Morrowind. Fucking Morrowind, the only province in all of Tamriel that still practiced slavery, particularly where the 'beast' races were concerned. And here he was, a filthy, unarmed, nearly penniless Khajiit with no way of getting word back to his father in Elsweyr.

And that, as far as he could see, was going to be his only way out. He needed to find a mages guild chapterhouse and get a message out to either his Father or one of his brothers. Surely they could arrange passage for him?

Ah, but where was the nearest mages guild chapter? J'dars knowledge of geography told him he was on a large island in the center of Morrowind called Vvardenfell, and that was about as detailed as the internal map got. He needed directions, at least. Preferably along with an armed escort and a nice sword for himself, but he needed to be realistic about the kind of funds he had at his disposal.

Maybe Jiub knew the area? Worth a shot.

He rose from his chair, took a second to find his balance, and snatched up what was left of the gold, depositing it into the little pouch it had come in and tying that securely to his waist.

The stairs were the tricky part, though if Jiub had managed it in his condition then surely J'dar could do the same. When he finally reached the first floor of the tradehouse he didn't see any yellow puddles or passed out Dunmer, and the Altmer wasn't throwing him any bad looks, so that was a good sign.

He stepped out into the warm night air, the rank and septic stench rolling off the sea and swamp respectively serving to sober him up just a little. He looked around, didn't see Jiub. He thought about calling out, but wasn't sure the patrolling guards would take too kindly to the disturbance, so settled on checking what he thought to be the most likely place.

He dropped down on all fours and leaned his head over the edge of the raised walkway, tilting forward so that he could peer underneath. His sharp eyes searched the darkness, looking for the mer amongst the stilts supporting the walkway, ears twitching, searching for the sound of retching. Nothing.

Wait. There. A pained grunt, not beneath the stilts but somewhere off in the gloom to his right. J'dar righted himself and crawled over on his knees to the edge of the walkway, eyes focused on the swampland lying just beyond the lanterns glow. His kind could see better in the dark than the dim-eyed men and mer, but the overcast sky and the nearby lantern hanging next to the door of the trade house prevented J'dar from seeing much more than a vaguely humanoid form bent forwards, holding itself up by pressing its arms against a large rock.

Jiub, no doubt. Voiding his empty stomach. J'dar wanted very much to leave the wretched drunk be, and take what was left of the gold for himself. But the fact remained that he was alone in a foreign land, a famously xenophobic foreign land, where members of his race were still kept as slaves. Where the name of his father and his father's father meant nothing, where clan Jodame was virtually unknown save for a few unusually cosmopolitan Telvanni his father had done business with, years and years ago.

He hopped down off the walkway and onto the soft ground below, carefully picking his way around puddles and small streams. The thin sandals he'd been given as a prisoner would do little to keep water off J'dars feet, and he wanted to avoid muddy fur for as long as possible.

He had to work his way around a large flooded ditch between the tradehouse and the rocks where swamp water drains out towards the sea, and by the time J'dar neared where he saw Jiub a mist had begun to roll in, just thick enough to impair even his keen vision. The wind picked too, blowing hard for a moment against J'dars back, blinding his nose to what was in front of him.

Good, he thought. At least now his doesn't have to sniff the Dunmers excretions.

"Jiub!" He called, too loudly, the chill and the stench of decay serving to sober him only so much.

Hurried shifting, a grunt that sounded nothing like Jiub. Two pairs of footsteps. The wind died down, and above the ambient scent of decaying matter drifting up from the shore lay the smell of freshly drawn blood.

J'dar came within sight of Jiub prone on the ground, a masked figure huddled over him, frozen still, staring out into the darkness towards J'dar, whose visage even dim eyes could see silhouetted up against the light coming off the town. The masked figures hands were frozen above Jiubs form, having been patting down the fallen Dunmer before J'dars call startled them.

Jiub was still alive. J'dar could hear his ragged breathing.

Had you asked him what he would've done in such a situation, J'dar would tell you that of course he'd have run. Why would he risk his life for some criminal mer he had no stake in, to whom he owed no debt, and whose only connection with J'dar was their shared time in prison? Besides, a guard would be more fit to handle the situation, and the town behind him had an imperial garrison stationed within its borders.

To his complete surprise however, the Khajiit found himself hissing low in his throat and extending his claws, drawing towards the figure. He found himself acting on instinct. By the time his rational mind caught up to what he was doing however, it was too late. He stalked forward a few steps, committed to this course of action. He was trying to scare the robber off, hoping his wide, reflective eyes looked wild with fury rather than the terror he really felt.

What in oblivion was he doing?

Thanks be to the Nine, however, the robber quickly rose and began to backpedal. Confidence intermingled with J'dars fear as he saw the robber retreat, it having been a long time since he'd felt such a rush of power. He dashed forward a few feet, intending to make sure the bastard got the message, his hiss bordering on a genuine growl.

J'dar heard someone step out from behind one of the man-sized ricks as he passed it, a quick blow catching him on the back of his head before he could turn. J'dars head swam, his limbs suddenly numb. He was only distantly aware of what should have been a sharp impact as he stumbled face first into the ground.

As his head cleared J'dar became aware of hands patting around his sides. He growled and weakly tried to get to his feet, getting a hard kick in the side for his trouble.

A second kick forced him to roll over, his knees coming up to protect his aching midsection while his hands covered his head. He felt hands tug at the coin pouch at his waist, and before he knew what was happening his attackers had slid a knife through the cord keeping the pouch affixed to his belt and run off.

J'dar peeked through his hand, listening to the pair as they ran. A part of him wanted to chase after them, but that was the suicidal instinct that just got him beaten up and robbed, so Oblivion take that idea.

Robbed.

His heart sank as his hand shot down to his waist, where the coin poach had been. Damnit all! Damnit all to Oblivion and back!

He grimaced in anger and frustration, the hand that checked his waist rising up and slamming back down into the ground. Instead of a bracing hard thump his hand struck the wet ground with a flaccid smack, seeping into the mud a few inches as J'dar continued applying pressure. He wanted to scream, but was afraid the motion would only worsen the burning pain in his chest. He prayed to S'rendarr that none of his ribs had been broken.

That money had been his only life-line in this strange land, his ticket home where he capable of reaching a mages guild chapter house. Now what could he do? He had no gold, no one knew who he was, or where he was, or was even bothering to look most like. What now?

He crawled into a sitting position. Bruised, probably, but not broken, thank the gods. He tried to stand, stumbled, and settled for crawling over to Jiubs unconscious form. He gripped the Dunmers shoulder and pulled him over to get a look at his face.

The Dunmer didn't look so good.

Not that that was unusual, what with the filth and the scar and the one good eye. Juib was covered in mud, his bare chest stained with what was probably vomit, and his bad eye had a pretty nasty gash under it that was dwarfed by the already present scar. Beyond that the Khajiit could see no other visible wounds.

He'd also wetted himself at some point, judging by the smell and stains.

J'dar slapped him. Shook him. Slapped him again.

One bleary red eye cracked open, looking around in confusion.

"Mmmhmfmf?" He grumbled before grimacing and turning his head to the side, spitting out what J'dar could only assume to be a mixture of swamp mud and blood.

"Ugh. J'dar? What happened?"

"We've been robbed ."

"Hm?"

Jiub blinked for a minute in incomprehension, his mind slow to process what the Khajiit was saying.

And then suddenly it hit him, his face becoming a mask of shock and anger. He sat up so quickly J'dar had to recoil to keep their heads from bashing together. Jiub looked around them urgently, peering into the darkness with his one good eye, as though he could see more than a few feet into the gloom with his dim vision.

He hung his head in resignation, teeth bared in a grimace, then looked to J'dar.

"The gold?" He asked.

J'dar nodded gravely.

"Fetchers…" He looked around again, hands tightening into fists.

"They're long gone."

"Shit. _Shit!_ " Jiub let out a long sigh. The beating had at least helped sober the poor fool up, J'dar thought.

"We need to go find a guard, Jiub."

"Yeah, yeah I guess. Can you walk?"

"Not by myself."

Jiub stood and wrapped one arm around J'dars torso, letting the Khajiit throw an arm around his shoulder to lean on him. Together they stood and limped their way back to Seyda Neen, searching for the torchlight of a patrolling guardsman.

"Hey. J'dar. You still got that packet? The one with the Emperors stamp on it?"

J'dar closed his eyes for a moment, unwilling to move a hand to his waist to check. Yes? Yes. Yes, he could definitely still feel it pressed up against his hip. The thieves had apparently not deemed a bunch of papers worth taking.

"I do."

J'dar was shocked to hear a smile in the Dunmers voice as he responded.

"Good. At least we've got _something_ to work with."

LLL

Alypia tried to stare him down, tried to school her face into a mask of indifference, to rob him of any little pleasure that she could.

To her great shame she soon found herself averting her gaze, though, the manic look in those harsh blue eyes, the animalistic, sadistic _pleasure_ they expressed making her doubt that course. He probably liked it, she thought, that impotent resistance.

Worse yet, she felt heat rise in her cheeks, even as the sickening sounds emanating from between her legs filled her stomach with heavy ice. She could tell by his laugh that she'd begun to visibly blush. The threat of tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

It should have been a wonderfully painful, messy, difficult affair. She should be screaming and thrashing in pain and anger with an animalistic furor. She should not have been aroused for him. He, certainly, would never have taken the time to prepare her.

But to her horror she'd heard the snap of his fingers long before he'd entered the private cabin, the miniscule runes that marked the hood of her clit flaring to life, arcing intermittent shocks and emitting fierce vibrations onto that little bundle of nerves. She'd been kicking with all her might at first, struggling against the chains that bound her hands to the ceiling, but the magic drained her strength and heated her body, and all too soon she was up on the table, him standing there naked before her, her legs gipped loosely in each hand.

Not even the rape shamed her as much as her gratitude, however. Gratitude at whatever whim struck this crass mercenary captain, whatever flight of fancy that led to him to learning such a revolting, complicated application of magic. He would just as soon take her dry, she knew, were the convenience of the spell not available. She does not think she would have lasted long like that. Her thoughts would have turned to suicide months ago. That, or she'd have succumbed to infection.

Her thoughts did not turn to her own death now though. She wanted to live. And that should have shamed her most of all, she thought. She knew Fathers wish would have been for her to die with what little dignity she still had left, so as not to embarrass their family further. Not to grasp at whatever hope of life she could, to prolong this miserable existence.

He held her feet in the palms of his hands now, lifting them high and wide, stroking those soft, pink soles that he was so proud of maintaining, his fingers working their way between her toes. She turned to look at him, saw that his eyes had drifted down to stare at where he thoughtlessly, repetitively penetrated her. Those eyes had begun to glaze over, losing their predatory sharpness as he neared orgasm.

No. despite her upbringing, she thought nothing of honor. As she stared at him, trembling with release, hands gripping her feet too hard, all she could think of was planting a mace right there, just between his pretty blue eyes, and watching his head explode.

LLL

Alypia squatted on the edge of the railing, hands gripping a nearby rope for balance, padded slippers preventing her from grasping the edge of the railing with her toes like she wanted. As terrified as she was of slipping and falling over, however, it was still better than going anywhere near the latrine, what with the way it had been clogging lately. Especially since everyone was below deck, gearing up for their imminent stint on dry land, giving her some modicum of privacy topside.

The old plumbing boy had been replaced last time they'd made port, and the new one hadn't the same skill as his predecessor in ensuring the crews waste flowed cleanly through the piping and into the septic barrels. If he didn't get better, she thought, his captain was likely to behead him as soon as another replacement became available.

She pitied him as much as she did anyone who earned Aerons ire, however, she had to use those latrines same as her captors and was eager to see them functioning again, one way or another.

And so there she was, shaking and shivering in the cold northern air with her pale ass hanging out over the side of the ship, holding onto a rope for dear life as she cleaned her bowels with seawater from a bucket usually left by the latrines for her by one of the fresh recruits. It was about as pleasant as it sounded. But Aeron would take any hole he wanted whenever he wished, and the beating she would receive as a result improper maintenance was not worth the pleasure of his disgust.

A new recruit stepped on deck as she was finishing up, some young Nord boy with a mane of blonde hair and a soft-looking, baby-smooth face. He was looking around, double-taking when he spied her in her rather exposed position. Alypia smiled, laughing inwardly at the blush working its way across his face as she sidled off the railing and straightened the lush silk High Elven robe that served to hide absolutely nothing.

She liked this one, liked the way her mere presence caused the normally boisterous young man to stammer and mumble silently, his face as red as it could be. For all his ferocity and bravery in battle, the poor fool absolutely fell apart around women not armed and armored and swinging a sword at him. It was cute, and a little endearing, more so because of his stubborn refusal to call her anything but "ma'am."

"The, uh, the cap'n wants you below deck. Ma'am."

He stood stock still, staring resolutely at a point above her forehead, though she knew for a fact his eyes would drop to her ass as soon as she turned her back, or her chest and groin were she to divert her eyes.

"Any idea what for?" She asks, delighting at how a blank, panicked look flashed across his face when he realized she was going to make him speak.

"Uh, armoring, I, uh, I guess. For when we make port. Ma'am."

"Well?" she says, smirking.

"…Uhhh?"

"Lead the way!"

"Oh! Right, uh..."

The Nord boy turned on his heel and made his way through the doorway and into the ship. No doubt he was missing the chance to ogle her backside.

She followed behind, joining the rest of the crew in preparation for their arrival on this island, Solstheim, Aeron had been eyeing for so long.

She was standing amongst the rest of the crew on the deck when the island came into sight.

It was green, she noted with surprise. She hadn't expected anything this far north to be green. Perhaps it was their proximity to Morrowind and its famous volcano. That too was visible in the distance, the northern shore of Vvardenfell far off to their right.

Ironic that the only province she'd never visited, she, a sex slave, was the only province in the whole of the Empire that allowed slavery. She felt a rueful smile force its way onto her lips at the very idea of it, of Aeron as _law-abiding._ He'd probably free her then and there just on principle.

And then chase her down, fuck her in the ass, slit her throat, and fuck her in the ass again.

Nothing if not consistent.

The minutes ticked by, the island becoming larger and larger on the horizon. Before long Alypia could make out the fort, Fort Frostmoth, and the dinky little plank of wood it passed off as a dock. Aerons ship wasn't all that big, but it dwarfed everything else moored up before the fort, a small sail boat and a rowboat.

Not for the first time Alypia wondered what it was about this island that drew Aeron so. Even when they'd first met, when he'd been nothing more than a small-time mercenary in her father's employ, he'd talk relentlessly about one day seeing the isle. And taking into account the trajectory of their voyage, it seemed that the isle is where they'd been headed ever since, albeit with numerous stops and detours. She felt as though something momentous should be occurring, now that the great and terrible captain Aeron had and long last reached his destination.

The world should be splitting open. Fire should be raining down from the heavens.

But no. Just a few miserable looking, frozen legionnaires standing in wait at the head of the docks, and a group of what were probably more mercenaries setting up a rough patchwork tent up against the side of the fort walls.

They pulled up next to the dock, a few of the men leaping over the side to secure the ship while others set up a large plank to serve as a gangway. Aeron and Alypia descended first, the rest of the crew following behind, organizing themselves into a rough approximation of two lines while Aeron talked with one of the soldiers.

The other soldier scanned the fifteen men and women standing on the dock, armed and armored with a mismatched array of leathers and steel. He didn't give Alypia so much as a second glance, and why should he? She was armored in the same thick leather cuirass and greaves, same warm fur boots and gloves, as most of the rest of them. She looked like just another member of the kind of two bit mercenary company these frozen-kneed fools where expecting. The only notable differences were the secretly enchanted collar around her neck, an unusual addition but largely benign to the eyes of a stranger, and the expensive looking silver shortsword at her waist.

They had no idea what she was. What Aeron was. And it was probably best that it stayed that way. Even if she hadn't had that damned magical collar sealing her voice, the last thing she would have done was start yelling about how she was a kidnapped noblewoman, forcibly and illegally enslaved by a mad pirate posing as a mercenary, as though these legionnaires could save her. She held no illusion regarding Aerons power, knew damn well that there was nothing this backwater outpost could throw at him that wouldn't be answered a hundred-fold with magic and enchanted steel. He would kill them all, and her. It was safer to remain quiet, collar or no, for all parties involved. She knew this. He knew she knew this.

It did feel nice to wear something akin to real clothes though, something to keep out the chill that had been eating at her bones ever since she'd left Illiac Bay. The fur boots and gloves were pleasantly warm, and synergized well with the warm feeling in her chest as she imagined drawing her favorite sword and plunging it into the back of Aerons head, the tip exiting out of and ruining his pretty face.

She wondered, as she often did, how the crew would react to that. Some, she thought, may very well come to her defense. Not many though, and not the ones that counted. The fierce young Nord boy, who had no idea the kind of man he had signed on to until it was too late, kept in line more by fear than loyalty. The plumber boy too, as well as a few of the women. Most however would try to take his place, or just leave, or kill Alypia as retribution for denying them their always very generous pay.

The man may not be able to inspire loyalty with charisma, but he knew how to buy it.

It was all moot, anyway. She'd gotten quite good with a sword, better than she'd ever imagined she'd be, Aeron ensuring she had a trainer so that she wouldn't be dead weight when they were out on a job. But she was nowhere near his level, augmented as he was by powerful magics and inhuman talent. He'd see her coming a mile away.

The captain finished talking with the soldiers, who headed off towards the fort as Aeron turned to face his people, who gathered around him in anticipation of learning just why the hell they'd been dragged away from a plentiful bounty in Hammerfell to the literal ass-end of nowhere.

They all may have looked like a ragtag bundle of raiders, but Aeron was nothing less than resplendent in his polished mithril cuirass and boiled black leathers, shining with some unknown magic, his only mithril pauldron poking out jauntily beneath a black bear fur cloak. You could get rich off the spoils of his corpse, were there anyone among them with the skill or the courage to take him on.

His pale face hung over his crew as he surveyed them for a moment with frozen blue eyes, black curls fluttering in the wind. He'd have looked handsome, Alypia thought, were it not for the cruel slit of his eyes and the mocking, upturned corner of his scarred mouth. The only scars he allowed to stay on his body, though Alypia couldn't even begin to guess why considering the vanity he displayed about nearly every other aspect of his appearance.

Maybe he liked how unsettling people found it.

"I bet you're all wondering why we're here, right?" He said at last.

No one answered. Everyone here had been aboard long enough to know it wasn't an actual question, just Aeron enjoying the sound of his own voice.

" _Well_ , as it just so happens I've taken the liberty of securing for all you lovely boys and girls a very lucrative contract with none other than the East Empire Company itself! Seems they want to build themselves a little mining town westwards a ways on this pleasant little island, and don't quite trust these soldiers here to provide adequate security. And so we're here to babysit some settlers in their stead. Exciting, yes?"

Stunned silence reigned.

An East Empire Company contract was a good catch. They paid well. But that wasn't what the people, what _most_ of the people, Aeron recruited were here for. They wanted rape and pillage and battle, not sitting around in the cold scaring away wolves. They wanted the big payday, wanted some isolated nobles manor to ransack, valuables worth more than any contract to sneak off with.

Along with the nobleman's chained up daughter.

"Now, now, settle down." Aeron said, patting his hands as though he were trying to calm applause. "I know none of you can wait to get to it, but we've another day before the colonists are ready, so it'd be best if you head on inside the fort and rest up. The soldiers have quarters prepared for everyone, and have assured me all their services are available to us. Be ready to head out at daybreak. That is all."

And with that Aeron spun and his heel and walked off.

Most of crew remained at the edge of the dock, shocked and glum. Others, the veterans who'd been with Aeron for years, followed their captain towards the fort. They, like Alypia, knew something was up, knew there was something Aeron wasn't telling them, and were hedging their bets on a significant payday ahead despite the bleakness of it all. The rest looked like they were torn between following and dashing back onto the boat a sailing away. Eventually they all snapped out of it and starting making their way towards the fort too, though Alypia would be shocked if the ship was still there by morning.

She followed after Aeron too, not wanting to have to make him look for her if they got separated. She caught up with him just in time to see him eyeing the other mercenaries, the ones who'd set up camp up against the fort wall. A group of three Khajiit of varying breeds had emerged from the warm looking tent to observe Aeron and his troops as they made their way inside, eyeing the newcomers with curiosity and suspicion.

Alypia was probably the only person on the whole island who could name every breed present, aside from the Khajiiti themselves of course. A diminutive Suthay, finely dressed it resplendent satin robes with a well-tailored colovian fur hat on his (or her, Alypia had a hard enough time telling gender with Khajiits without the robes) head and large leather bound book under one arm. A larger Suthay-Raht in a common brown robe tied to his or her waist with a thick leather belt covered in pockets. And behind both of them the looming presence of what Alypia could only assume to be a definitely male Cathay-Raht, a breed she'd read about but had never in her life actually laid eyes on, wearing a fine elven cuirass over chainmail and with a silver hammer the size of her head slung across his back.

Her heart sank a little when she saw it was the cuirass Aeron was eyeing. She knew that look well. He wanted it.

It was a shame the Cathay-Raht had to die. It was a truly majestic specimen, of a kind rarely seen outside the Khajiit homeland of Elsewyr, with a lovely gold mane and rippling muscles and long, bared claws. In another life Alypia would have wanted to hold the figure in her mind, for the purpose of an illustration for the book she'd always planned to write.

But she wasn't planning on writing a book anymore, and Aeron was not the type to buy or trade. Even worse, this creature didn't look like the type to surrender its property without a fight.

But in the end, Aeron always got what he wanted.


End file.
